


Of Magic Fingers and Architects

by Crowoxy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale pack, Alternate Coffee Au, Architect Derek, Awesome Lydia Martin, Coffee Shops, EMT Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, M/M, Magic Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowoxy/pseuds/Crowoxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is an EMT taking classes to be a paramedic. Derek is the "getting his master's in architecture" barista at the nearby cafe where all trainees and trainers from the First Responders go to chill and drink coffee. Stiles loves bothering Derek from his final project design, Lydia doesn't know why she's friends with this dork, and Derek loves Stiles when he's not being annoying, which is hardly ever. </p><p>Then shenanigans happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Magic Fingers and Architects

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zjofierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/gifts).



> This is for zjofierose for the TW Fall Harvest! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this story! I was thinking of my own time sitting at the the coffee shop everyday of class while getting my EMT certification. And then Magic!Stiles happened.

“So I left a vegetable casserole in the fridge, so you need to make sure you actually eat it this time, dad. Stop wasting food by pretending you don’t see the dish. It’s labeled with your name and date and everything right in front of you.” Stiles pressed his phone tight against his ear as he dashed to and from the living room to his bedroom, trying to gather up all of his books and highlighters and stuff them into his backpack.

 

“You don’t have work today and class doesn’t start for another three hours. Where are you off to this early?” It wasn’t surprising that the Sheriff of Beacon Hills had memorized his son’s entire schedule. Stiles had to get his compulsions to know where his family was at all times of the day from somewhere.

 

“It’s called studying, dad. That thing people do when they open books and go over any assigned reading and try to remember what to do when a patient slams against your car window having an embolism or TIA.” A discarded purple highlighter wedged between a few jars on the kitchen counter joined the pile of things Stiles needs for the day. “But after class I have a shift so I won’t be back until tomorrow morning, when I drop into your office with a healthy breakfast that I know you wouldn’t have made for yourself.”

 

The sheriff’s groan echoed in Stiles’ ear. “I still don’t understand why you wanted to be an EMT. Thought you wanted to join the Academy once you got out of high school. Besides you have that… magic fingers thing going on. What studying can compare to that?”

 

“Oh my god dad, you can’t just call it magic fingers thing. I don’t even wiggle my fingers when using it.” Rather, he didn’t use it all that often. The ability to command primal energies with his mind was terrifying - exhilarating but terrifying -, and the only reason the Sheriff had found out about it was because of a freak accident involving a slightly bigger than average puppy, his puppy human best friend Scott, and several iced over trees. In the middle of summer.

 

Yeah, the anxiety that event had caused gave Stiles nightmares for weeks. What if he had hurt Scott with the sharp ice pieces forming in front of him? What if he had accidentally hit behind him and skewered his dad? What if his dad wasn’t as accepting of it as he seemed, holding Stiles tight not for comfort but to strangle? It had been Scott, precious Scott, who had marched up to the Sheriff, dragging Stiles in tow after weeks of eggshell walking, and proclaiming loudly that “Stiles is a wizard, Sheriff, since like forever. If you don’t want him, I’m taking him home with me to sleep on my bed and never giving him back.”

 

Ah the good old days of the fantastic duo back as ten year olds.

 

Stiles remembered his dad blinking owlishly before pulling Stiles and Scott into a hug.

 

“Sorry, kid. Stiles has to stay with me to protect me with his wizard skills.” Stiles had clung to his dad for _hours_ after that.

 

“Well you wave your hand some of the time. I think. Magic hands?”

 

“Oh my god, Dad.” Stiles finished packing everything, doing a quick double check to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, like his hand that one time back in high school. Okay, granted he hadn’t forgotten it as much as made it invisible for three days because he couldn’t figure out how to undo it and Jackson of all people had noticed, but the point still remained. “I need to get going, and unless you want to write off another ticket of me driving while on the phone, I’m going to have to hang up.”

 

“I see how it is, only breaking the law when I can’t be present to it.”

 

“You are the sheriff.” Stiles grinned into the phone. “I’m just looking out for you with my so-called illegal activities.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t think I don’t know about you sneaking in to use everything. Go have fun at class, Stiles.”

 

“I have absolutely zero idea as to the outlandish claims you are inquiring about. Bye, dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The cell went silent and Stiles tucked it into his pocket, grabbing his backpack slinging it over his shoulder and heading to his jeep.

 

There was a handy coffee shop right across the street from where his paramedic training classes met up and Stiles had been going there since he first started the whole EMT/first responder career. Loads of students ended up there, nestled on the numerous couches and chairs, laptops and books spread across any nearby tables. The coffee was decent, the little cakes were amazing – Stiles had resolved never to bring his dad here lest he eat all of said delicious cakes and make his cholesterol skyrocket – and there was even a little corner for naps, blankets and pillows bundled up into a large pile that anyone could go and curl up in.

 

“You’re late.” A voice huffed at him as Stiles entered the café.

 

“Hello to you too, Lydia. And what a fabulous day we seem to be having.” The strawberry blonde hair flipped over her shoulder as Lydia Martin harrumphed and tossed her head, eyes hardly leaving the ancient looking document in front of her.

 

“And besides, I’m only ten minutes late because I was driving speed limit all the way here.”

 

“You’re a liar. You have problems staying only ten miles per hour above the speed limit.”

 

“Hey, things could change! It’s been an entire week since you last saw me.” Stiles protested.

 

“I really doubt things would change that much, Stiles.” Lydia flicked a bit of foam at him from her coffee. Lydia was attending Stanford for the Math division, coming back home to Beacon Hills – a whole hour drive away – once or twice a week to teach CPR certifications or substitute for anyone else at the First Responder Training Center. Stiles occasionally taught as well, mostly when everyone else who could have been an option bailed and there was literally no one left in the area who could instruct people of all ages how to properly breathe for others and compress the chest (and break ribs in the process). Stiles loathed teaching; sure it was great to lord knowledge over assholes, but Stiles did that everyday of his life when surrounded by idiots who refused to fact check.

 

“Miracles happen some of the time!” Okay the fact that he was referring to it as a miracle probably wasn’t helping his case, and judging from the smug expression he could see forming on Lydia’s lips, she knew it too. Damnit.

 

Lydia mercifully decided to take pity on him rather than continue her verbal slaying, helped along by Stiles’ own traitor of a mouth. “Go get your drink. I have notes to go over for my ancient languages class and hearing you whine about you not having your caffeine will only distract me.” 

 

“Yes ma’am!” Stiles’ gave a lazy salute, dropping his bag on under the table and sauntering off to the barista’s domain.

 

“I think that was the longest time you’ve waited to come gulp down caffeine from me.” Perched on a stool at the register with a textbook sitting on his lap and blueprints unrolled along the counter top, Derek Hale, barista extraordinaire, handed Stiles a foam cup still steaming.

 

“That was only one time that you saw me going through caffeine withdrawals and you are never letting that go, are you?” Stiles eagerly grabbed the cup, and if he were a lesser man, he might have been drooling at the enticing smell of freshly ground coffee beans swirling against his nose. “Yay, my favorite coffee.”

 

“Nope, I’ll keep mentioning it every time I see you so you never forget the night you were _literally_ bouncing against the walls. And you nearly broke my favorite chair.” No one had the right to sound so self entitled and also look as pretty as Derek Hale did. It just wasn’t fair.

 

“It was one of the stock chairs, how could it have been a favorite?” Stiles protested, handing over his card to pay for the drink. Derek glared at him – honestly that was his usual default expression, but Stiles had trained himself to notice the difference between an actual glare and Derek just staring. It had meant many staring contests with the dude, which he had lost the majority of them, but Stiles had been successful in his observation tactic – and huffed, swiping the card and laying it flat on the counter for Stiles to slide back into his pocket.

 

“All the chairs are my favorite, I don’t discriminate among chairs.”

 

“Dude that chair was one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that you keep against the wall for emergency surges of people. Not one of the cushiony ones. I don’t know why you keep bringing this up all the time.”

 

“Because my heart was broken with the almost loss of that chair.”

 

“Yeah, that would be much more believable if you actually had an expression other than ‘go combust yourself’ on your face.”

 

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Go study or something.”

 

“You will miss me when I’m gone, Derek.”

 

“You’re literally going two tables away.” The barista rolled his eyes again, choosing to ignore looking directly at Stiles to gaze down to the papers laid out in front of him.

 

“It’s so far away, my heart is breaking with all of this distance between us.” Stiles put his arm over his face in what he hoped was the most dramatic partial swoon ever performed in a café. Derek pointedly ignored him, twirling a pencil around in his right hand. Stiles laughed and walked over to his and Lydia’s designated table, coffee tight in his grasp.

 

“Done flirting with your boyfriend already?” Lydia turned a page in her book.

 

“For now. He should wait to see what I come up with after class before work starts.” Stiles dropped into the chair across from Lydia and pulled out his textbook, flipping to the chapter of intravenous therapy.

 

“Well, that’s nice to see that your romantic plans aren’t all complete failures.” Stiles pouted.

“It wasn’t my fault I didn’t realize how unattainable you were until I was sixteen. Your brilliance kept distracting me.” So his ten-year plan to woo Lydia had completely tanked, but that was for the better. Stiles enjoyed spending time with her as a friend. And once Derek came back from NYU to work on his master’s degree in history and architecture at the nearby state college; well Stiles may not have been persuasive to the girl sitting across from him but apparently his annoyance was persistent enough to convince a sourwolf. 

 

“Apparently it was the wrong sort of brilliance that you actually wanted.” Lydia grinned. “More angles and long lines than math and equations.”

 

“Oh there’s plenty of long lines for me to adore.” Stiles threw a look over at the man behind the counter, who was studious _not_ looking in his direction, but the tip of ears burned red. Stiles bit his bottom lip to keep himself from cooing or from giggling until a rib cracked. Of course he knew that wasn’t actually possible without external force, but it made for such a great phrase.

 

The first time he had uttered it to Derek while waiting on call at the café, he had been absolutely concerned because he thought it could actually happen. That had only made Stiles laugh harder.

 

The next few hours were spent in companionable silence, broken every few minutes with a giggle, random comment, or dramatic reading of the text in front of them. Stiles blew back kisses to Derek every now and then, an act that was followed by an eye roll from Lydia and Derek. Stiles was so feeling the love tonight. When it was time to head to class, Stiles waved as he headed out the door, right on Lydia’s heels. She would be in a classroom the floor down for a recertification session. Stiles almost pitied the poor idiots. Lydia was known throughout the center as being the one instructor who could make grown men cry on a daily basis. It was a talent Stiles wished he could possess; it would make doing rounds so much easier if patients would listen to his directions because of fear, rather than scorn of they thinking they know more about the tools in the back ambulance than he did. Honestly, he practically lived in the back of the rig. Those know-it-alls knew _nothing_ about his precious baby #2. Roscoe was still the number one car baby in his heart, forever and always.

 

Class was interesting but boring; Stiles ended up flipping ahead of the book when his classmates went over the advantages of sticking an IV into someone during a crisis joy ride for the fourth time. Once the fours of material and practice was done, Stiles headed down to the garage to double check all of the equipment in the ambulance was up to par and then, yawning as he thought about the long night ahead, drove the rig across the street to the special parking spot at the café. Shifts on Thursdays were usually quiet, the occasional call coming from old Ms. Betty down Balden Drive was more lonely and loved talking to those cute little ragamuffin EMTs who came every time she called about an exploding kidney or sentient tumor. (Let it be known that Ms. Betty didn’t actually have any tumors as far as Stiles knew; but that had been one of the excuses she had tutted into the phone to the dispatcher, who in turned sighed it into Stiles’ and his partner’s radio.) Stiles expected to have ample of time to be on call at the café distracting Derek from his sketches and work with his patented shit-eating grin on his face. Almost like a date, except both of them were technically at work.

 

Stiles shivered in the cool night, walking across the street with his backpack hanging off of his shoulders. Something tingled in the air and Stiles didn’t like it. It felt….wrong, but he couldn’t explain how. But he was very much his father’s son; if there wasn’t any proof, then Stiles did what he did best and shook it off. Ignoring the problem hardly ever worked, but occasionally it did; Stiles was hoping this was one of those times.

 

His partner would show up right before the start of their shift in thirty minutes, bringing some new book from the library to devour when not driving the vehicle. They’d sit in the café waiting for a call, she would read, Stiles would alternate between reading, researching, talking with Derek, or all of the above at the same time.

 

“Hey.” Stiles’ slid behind the counter. Derek hadn’t moved from his stool, all of his papers still spread about everywhere and pencil twirling in his hand. But he was unfocused, constantly switching between biting his lip to furrowing his brow. “Derek, you all right, man?”

 

Derek jumped. Literally jumped from the stool to the tiled ground, his pencil hitting the ground with a soft thud and rolling away. Stiles felt that chill increase under his skin. Derek was never distracted to the point of inattention. Stiles had never caught him unaware of his presence even when cheating using magic. But then Derek had a bit of a furry secret himself.

 

“I’m fine.” Derek muttered, hurriedly picking up his escaping pencil and dropped it on the counter. His ears twitched.

 

“No, you’re not. Something’s bothering you.” Everything seemed too quiet right now. The clock had barely hit past eleven, but the silence within the café was deafening. Usually, there at least a few stragglers at this time of night, other EMTs or paramedics passing the time away not stuck behind a wheel. But right now it was totally empty, even the coffee maker seemed to be operating on mute. “Is your wolf sensing anything?”

 

The cliché of a maybe wizard dating the werewolf who was part of a secret pack of werewolves that had lived in the area for generations was not lost on Stiles or Derek. But where Derek simply rolled his eyes and pretended to growl, Stiles would beam and cackle at the thought.

 

“No.” Derek frowned. “But it’s… prickly. My hairs are all standing up and I _don’t know why.”_ Stiles reached out his hand to clasp Derek’s shoulder, but before he could draw closer than a few inches, Derek started, head cocked forward and ears all but pulling themselves toward some sound only he could hear. Stiles strained his ears, wishing he could understand what Derek had heard that had made his face pale so quickly.

 

Then Derek _howled_.

 

It wasn’t elegant, or harmonious. It was guttural and pain filled and _loud_ and Stiles had to cover his ears, eyes squeezing shut in pain. The next thing he knew, Derek had bounded over the counter top and dashed out the door, hair growing at an alarming rate over his limbs and ears gaining a prominent sharp edge. Stiles knew that if he could see his face and not just the back that had just slammed the door behind him, canines would have been peaking over the edge of the lips, ready to gnaw on any threat.

 

“Derek!” Stiles shouted pointlessly as he was left alone in the café.

 

Then the radio crackled to life from its position on the table Stiles had left it at.

 

“We’ve got two 69-E-2s, 10-50s in the area, one residential, one at the police station. Requesting all responders to split up in both locations.”

Stiles moved on automatic pilot, grabbing the radio and putting it up to his lips. _There was a fire at the station. His dad was at the station._

 

“This is Rig BH58C, 10-11. I’m on call without a partner across from the center. Orders?” There was a fire at the station. His dad. Stiles could see his hands trembling pressing the button on the walkie-talkie.

 

“Confirm Rig BH58C. Get to the residential as back up medic. All street side rigs have been pulled to the station, we need you at the residential. Address is the house at the preserve. Copy?”

 

“Copy. Heading out.” Throat tight and closing, Stiles grabbed everything within reach, dashing out the door to his rig. His partner was too far away to wait for, and there was no _time._ Not just his dad. _Derek_.

 

There was only one house on the preserve in Beacon Hills: the Hale house. Derek’s family. Derek’s family of _werewolves_ whose house was on _fire_.

 

 _The station and the Hale house_ both on fire? It was too much of a coincidence to be separate incidents. This had been a planned attack, one as a distraction and one place the real target.

 

As Stiles raced down the highway, sirens blazing, his mind whirled in different directions, threading together conspiracies and mythology and whatever links he could fit the puzzle pieces together.

 

 _Hunters_. It had to be hunters. Had to be humans dedicated to eradicating non-human creatures. The police station was too popular of a target; the majority of the first responders would be immediately called there to put the fire out, leaving only a few to handle the flames burning up the residence and possibly the surrounding wooded areas. Derek must have heard his family’s howls; he’d told Stiles one day that pack members could always hear each other, no matter what the distance.

 

“Don’t you dare do something stupid, Derek.” Stiles muttered to himself, pushing down harder on the accelerator.

 

It felt like ages had past before Stiles drove up to the preserve, the light from the fire drowning out any light made from the sirens.

“10-11, RigBH58C 10-21.” Stiles dropped the walkie-talkie on the passenger seat and   grabbed his kit before jumping out the front seat, the heat from the flames instantly scorching his skin even through his uniform, the smoke from the fire billowing high into the sky. He didn’t need any magical sense to tell him that there wasn’t anything natural about this fire. The few firefighters that had been sent were trying in vain to control the flames, their hose doing nothing but making the flames hunger more for fuel.

 

From the corner of his eye, Stiles spotted a shadow try valiantly to run into the burning, only to be thrown back by an invisible barrier. Derek.

 

“Derek. Derek!” Stiles sprinted to the sprawled form; sweat already dripping down his brow.

 

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled himself up. “There’s mountain ash all around the house, I can’t get in! And they can’t get out!”

 

“Is everyone together and how bad is the smoke inhalation?” Stiles demanded, trying to think of a solution to get everyone out safe and sound. The firefighters were making absolutely no headway with the fire; they couldn’t go in to rescue _anyone_. And even if they could go in, the mountain ash would prevent whomever they rescued from getting out.

 

 _It was hunters_. Later, Stiles would congratulate himself on being right. Later. Now he had to focus on getting people away from a magic fire that wouldn’t be put out by water.

 

In a fight against magic, magic always beats it.

 

“They’re all in the basement. Mom tried to lead to everyone out of the side doors once the front doors wouldn’t open. The kids are choking.” Derek was forcing himself to take deep breaths, hysterics barely contained. Stiles admired his strength and practicality. He doesn’t know if he could remain half as calm if his dad was right in front of him in a burning building and he worked in a field of emergency situations.

 

 _But he is in a burning building!_ And that’s why you’re here and not at the station where he’s probably already outside and safe.

 

“Alright, so air is the most important bit right now. Make sure I don’t lose focus will you? I’ve never done anything like this before.” With a sweep of his hand, Stiles broke the mountain ash circle. Gathering energy and focusing it in one point of his mind, Stiles took a deep breath in… and breathed out air encased in ice. Holding it right in front of him, Stiles closed his eyes and willed it to grow, to grow bigger and sturdier, to carry and protect the precious air from the flames. To have the ice act as a barrier against the fire and form a shield around the family stuck inside.

 

Inhale…..and exhale….and let it _fly_. The ice and air squeezed through an open window, and immediately the flames tried to consume this new intruder whole. Stiles refused to let it. Sending out more energy, he reinforced the ice, not allowed any bit of it to melt in the heat of the fire and give more fuel to make the flames grow. Slowly, so very slowly, _too slowly_ , Stiles saw/felt/was the ice floating down, down, down into the basement of the large house. Down to where people were coughing, smoke having entered their lungs and slowly cooking the respiratory system from the inside out.

 

 _Exhale_. Cover the area with the ice-air, expand it to give them precious air to breathe. Shield them from the heat and the burns with the ice and slowly lead them outside, protected by his ice-air shield, protected by _his magic_. Pour more energy into the shield, the flames are licking closer, too close for comfort. Give up more of him to push the fire away, ignore the quiet voice calling his name and begging him to stop. He can’t stop; the people are not outside yet. The flames still grow, hungry, forever hungry for more. More water is poured by the others on the outside of the house, only making the fire more hungry and angry.

 

 _No stop._ Stiles chided. _You’ve had enough_.

 

_There is never enough. Always need more. More and more and more and more. Always hungry. Always starving._

_Enough is enough._ Stiles said firmly in his mind. _Look at all you have consumed already._  

 

The people make it outside, little ones carried by larger ones with sharp fangs and claws, his ice-air shield still around them, although some edges are charred and melting.

 

Fire roars at the loss of its prey. Those it wanted to consume have moved away from it’s circle of rage and the flames feel the loss keenly. They want to gobble those wolves, swallow them whole and broken; that is reason of it’s summoning.

 

 _Enough_. Stiles says again and _pushes_. Ice grows brittle and then stronger, the glaciers moving outward and forcing the fire to become smaller and smaller, trapped in it’s own circle of summoning and by the ice freezing away it’s fuel until it at last consumes itself.

 

The silence left behind in the air and in his mind as the fire is smothered out is beautiful, and Stiles would have kissed it had it been tangible and he had the energy. He struggles to open his eyes, finding himself facing strands of blackened grass and dirt and Derek’s worried face inches away from his.

 

“You idiot.” Derek is whispering, but it feels like he’s yelling into Stiles’ ears. “You absolute moronic _idiot_.”

 

Stiles feels himself being pulled into a hug, calloused hands roughly grabbing his uniform. “Hi.” He mumbles into the shoulder his face his pressed into.

 

He was oddly very comfortable, Stiles decided. And he was exhausted. This seemed a good place as any for a quick nap. Stiles sighed and nuzzled into his new pillow, eyes closing and he felt himself drift off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s lucky quite a few other EMTs and firefighters passed out due to smoke inhalation from the flames even though they weren’t inside the burning building. Apparently, there had been a wind that sent the smoke in their direction and it was thick enough to cause a lot of damage. But no one was too damaged, except for the property, but that was nothing a few carpenters couldn’t fix. And an architect getting his master’s completed.

 

But the important thing was, Stiles didn’t get lectured or demoted for not following proper protocol, although what the standing orders were for a magical fire, no one really knew. He did get berated by his partner for leaving him behind on the interesting runs while he was stuck at the hospital, but that was nothing new.

 

“Dude, if you want to stop being left behind on the interesting times, stop being so damn late all the time!”

 

“I am not late! I arrive exactly right on time. When our shift is supposed to start. Not an hour earlier because I decide to hang out with my boyfriend who oh so coincidently works at the café we’re on call at.”

 

“Boyd, if you want to bring Erica by, you know you’re more than welcome to.”

 

Stiles had gotten a lot of interesting visitors, naturally the first being his dad, worried sick and actually willingly eating mini carrots in a frenzy when Stiles woke up.

 

“His nervous pacing was driving my mom insane.” Derek would whisper to him later, head resting forward against the bed from the chair he was sitting in. Not only his dad, but the entire Hale family came by for a visit, the younger siblings and cousins begging him to do that cool ice umbrella trick again when he got better. Talia Hale had given him a tight hug, thanking him profusely for saving her family. Stiles had blushed and stammered until he was positive his tongue was going to fall out, regardless of what medical knowledge said against the probability of that happening.

 

Then it had been Lydia, who came by mostly to glare at him and call him an idiot for being so reckless and stupid and “Derek would you please make sure this moron lives to age of 30 at the very least?” Stiles stuck out his tongue at her while Derek solemnly promised that Stiles would live to the ripe old age of old as fuck. Lydia had nodded her approval and patted Derek’s head as she left. Stiles wished he had a camera to take a picture of Derek’s gobsmacked expression.

 

Last had been Scott with his girlfriend Allison Argent, with get-well presents and information. Apparently her family had a notorious history of being excellent werewolf hunters, but hunters who followed a code.

 

“I think it’s time that I changed a few things in the family business, including shipping my grandfather out to a nursing home to help him live the rest of his days with cancer.” She had said, head held high and eyes glittering with plans of retribution and reformation. Stiles may have fallen in love with her just a little bit, but he’d never tell that to Derek.

 

“I have never been more glad to be home in my entire life.” Stiles had been stuck at the hospital for two days, doctors performing last minute tests and labs for anything they might have missed in their initial intake.

 

“Well then, stop doing stupid shit and maybe you won’t have to end up in there anymore.” Derek sat on the floor of Stiles’ room, with Stiles himself wrapped in a blanket (Derek’s doing) in pajamas (also Derek’s doing) and leaning against Derek while he studied new blueprints of the renovations of his family’s home (Stiles absolute refusal to sit anywhere Derek wasn’t).

 

“But that’s boring.” Stiles whined. “I’m off duty for the rest of the week, no one is even letting me open a book because that’s too strenuous, and you’re too busy designing to pay proper attention to me.”

 

“If I promise to read you a bedtime story will you stop whining and go have a nap?”

 

“Only if you do all the voices in weird accents.”

 

Stiles may have actually cracked a rib from laughing when Derek attempted to do some lines from the Snow Queen in a botched up Polish accent. Derek nearly had a heart attack at the ripe old age of 26 when Stiles bent over in half in tears.

 

Maybe he should do magic more often or find himself in more dire situations than usual if it landed him this cuddly afternoon in his room with Derek.  


End file.
